Sunday 9 June 2013 15.00 EDT
First published on Sunday 9 June 2013 15.00 EDT

Never being able to change the football team you support is one of the main rules of football. Your team may be a bunch of obnoxious, racist, semi-psychotic scumbags who earn obscene amounts of money, but you have to stick with them. Or at least I thought that was the case until last week, when I decided I had a new favourite football team.

My new team are Duckpond FC, which technically makes me a glory hunter because they have just become a title-winning team. Admittedly, the title in question is the Colchester and District Sunday League Second Division title, but then the achievement is not why they are my new favourite team. Rather, it's the way they celebrated. Last week they hired an open-top bus and journeyed around the streets of their hometown, Harwich, much to the bemusement of all the people in Harwich who hadn't heard of Duckpond FC, which by my best estimate would be every single person in Harwich apart from Duckpond FC's mums.

"I did wonder what was going on," commented 64-year-old Margaret Hedges, who saw the bus trundle past her house, "but good for them. It's nice to see someone still knows how to have fun."

It would be nice to agree with Margaret's sentiment. But if competing in amateur sport has taught me anything over the past few years, it's that it rarely has anything to do with fun. Duckpond FC's success will have come at a cost, and I don't mean the monetary cost, which, taking into account the bus hire (£600), the banners to drape over it (£200) and the helium balloons (£70, but absolutely vital for decorative purposes, I'm sure you'll agree), would have been the best part of a grand.

No, I'm talking about the emotional, psychological and physical costs. For Duckpond's players, winning that league may have been just as hard for a team of their ability as it was for, say, Robin van Persie to win the Premier League. In a way it's probably harder for an amateur side to achieve their goals. Manchester United probably don't need to scrabble around for a new goalkeeper half an hour before kickoff because their existing one has suddenly remembered he has to do a work presentation in Brixton.

So why shouldn't Duckpond FC revel in their own moment of personal glory? They certainly seemed to appreciate their success more than those more naturally gifted players, for whom winning football matches is taken as a given. When Manchester City won the FA Cup, their first trophy in 35 years, striker Carlos Tevez booked a flight home on the day of his team's bus parade, only changing his mind after being threatened with a club fine.

When my own amateur football team (DisOrient FC, a side whose notable achievements include making Duckpond FC look like Bayern Munich) won the B division of the Finsbury Park Tuesday Night All Nations Five-Aside League earlier this year it was genuinely one of the greatest moments of my life. We didn't manage an open-top bus parade, but we do rival the Duckpond guys when it comes to delusions of grandeur, what with lengthy match reports, limited-edition team calendars (available in desk and wall-mountable versions) and plans to record a charity Christmas single. At one point we even managed to convince the FA to let us train at their newly opened super-academy St George's Park, an experience made more bizarre by the fact we were granted access to exclusive VIP areas (well, a buffet) while actual professional players from Millwall and Blackpool hovered on the other side of the rope.

To say the pursuit of these minor triumphs can consume your life is an understatement. Last year, when DisOrient fixtures fell on Valentine's Day, my wife's 30th birthday and our second wedding anniversary it was, admittedly, awkward having to explain to the team why I couldn't make it. Sorry, did I just say "the team"? I meant "my wife".

In many ways Duckpond FC's bus ride is simply a heartwarming gesture of old-fashioned comradeship. "We grew up together and are pals outside of football," said captain Kris Muir, who turned up for their bus parade dressed as the team's duck mascot. No matter how strong Duckpond's friendships were before forming a team – and nothing says "friendship" quite like being peer-pressured into dressing like a duck – their bonds will only have been strengthened by playing in a team, and learning how to win, together. These days I consider my DisOrient team-mates to be less friends and more blood brothers whose children I would happily raise as my own (provided I was allowed to dress them in the official DisOrient babygrow, available in orange and maroon from October).

In other ways, though, this is about more than just friendship. Duckpond FC remind us that, in a world where you're encouraged to consider work to be the sole focus of your achievements, there are often other things in life far more worthy of celebration. Maybe it's not very British to brag and cheer when we haven't been given explicit permission. But sometimes we need to revel in our own mini accomplishments. Sometimes we all deserve an open-top bus parade through the streets of Harwich.